Idiot Box
by terribleterribleterrible
Summary: "My name is Craig Tucker and I have never been to a school before." socially avoidant, snarky, violent cagefighter, and now apparently in love with the local crazy kid, too. Basketcase!Creek, rated M in later chapters.
1. Watch out, the world's behind you

**Chapter 1 - Watch out, the world's behind you**

**Chapter Track: sunday morning- the velvet underground**

**This is the re-post of my original and finally finished fic, Idiot Box. The entire thing is written now, so I'll definitely be posting the whole thing, no disappointments, I swear. Thanks for reading and please enjoy!**

"Are you thick?"

No. No I am not. And anyone who says different can fuck the fuck off.

My name is Craig Tucker and I have never been to a school before.

I know. Home-schooled kids, eh? Every connotation is negative. Usually people assume we're clinical neat freaks, or weird outback religious types, which is a horrible misconception and I hate all of you. The only defect I may have developed is a severe aversion to touch and most forms of social interaction. Basically, I live on the Internet and don't like normal people.

So moving out to this shitty little town into this shitty little high school is possibly the worst thing to ever happen to me. Fuck my fucking life.

What I really can't believe is that it's only been five minutes into the school day and I already hate it here. my maths teacher thinks I'm thick as fuck because I can't do algebra, or trigonometry, or much else other than basic arithmetic, but I know my numbers and I can add and subtract all I want. I learnt from a computer program. Sue me.

Maths isn't interesting though. Like science isn't my thing either. And don't ask me to write, because I can't actually hold a pen. So maybe I'm not the best when it comes to academics, but I'm incredibly articulate and hey, you don't need to know the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell to sing a goddamned song. Yes, I aspire to be a singer/songwriter if I ever move back out of this shithole.

I will never understand my parents need to give ruby a normal childhood. Ruby is my sister and she's starting high school today too, just at a more normal age.

Don't get me started on the people. Here, I'm technically classified as a freak, but as the egotistic wanker I am I see the other freaks as way below my standards of companionship. It's probably a good thing that they don't want to talk to me, either.

I had a friend, once. His name was Gregory and he lived back in Denver with me. Unfortunately he moved out to England three months after I met him. Bizarre old chap. He taught me the word 'unbecoming'.

Also, I appear to be being ridiculed for my lack of ability to hold a pen. Throughout my entire online education I've typed, rendering pens unnecessary, so I honestly don't know why I can't continue to do so now. Real people school is so much more stressful.

Fuck this, fuck that, fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

So let's bring it back to the question at hand, shall we?

"Are you thick?"

The words are spoken by the brunette in red sitting in front of me, turned backwards in his chair. He'd been talking to me for about two minutes now and seemed to be intent on droning through enough shit to actually bore me to death, going on about a back to school party this weekend and some girl he was hoping to meet there. I doubt she ever actually existed.

I couldn't remember his name. Claude, was it? Craig? No, that's me.

He was referring to my lack of knowledge regarding mathematics. I had never heard of Pythagoras theorem, and didn't intend on learning it any time soon. Later on he would turn out to be one of my most loyal friends. However, at this juncture, I would have quite liked to punch him in the mouth.

"No. Not at all. Are you?" I ground out in my usual nasally monotone. His grin didn't reassure me at all.

It grew wider in his response "Just a bit, yeah. But even I know Pythagoras."

The guy next to him, currently hunched over his textbook was laughing quietly to himself. He was dark skinned and wore a light denim jacket. He turned around "Clyde, stop it," Clyde. That was the name I was looking for "leave homeschool alone. He doesn't look the type to take shit."

He was right, you know. I was notorious back in Denver for starting a fuckload of bar fights. Also for being that kid with the home made fake ID that actually looked real enough to buy drinks in the bar. "Homeschool?" I couldn't keep the sneer out of my voice. Bad habit, I know.

The darker boy looked puzzled "you are the new kid, right? The one who's never been to a real school before?"

He had me there "Well, yes, just, don't call me_ that_. _Anything_ but that."

"Well are we gonna get your name or what?" the brunette spoke again "'cause if we don't I'm gonna give you a name, and it may or may not be Polly." this guy was going to piss me off for sure. I could feel it in my very soul. To this day I'm still not sure why I bothered to give them my name.

"Craig Tucker." I stuck my hand out, much to the delight of the brunette.

"Clyde Donovan. Ladies man." he winked as he threw my hand away. Why? I have no idea.

"Token Black. And he's not a ladies man, he's a douche." the dark boy chimed in.

I liked this guy already "Token, no fair. The one chance I have to make friends with the first new kid in four years, and you go and embarrass me." he was getting all pouty. What a whiner.

"Don't worry; you were doing a great job of that yourself." I interjected. Token laughed and the look on Clyde's face was priceless.

This slight anecdote of my awful, spiteful sense of humour is what earned me my first real friends in this crappy little town, and of course I instantly regretted it. Friends weren't a thing I did as a whole, so Clyde and token were a pretty new experience for me. My first day and they already insisted that I sit with them at lunch. Oh God.

Lessons here in real school were boring to the point that it was painful. It must be a sin for an English lesson to be that undoubtedly awful. I am articulate in my grace, and refuse to be taught by that beast of a woman they dare to call Miss Ayvan. She is the Satan incarnate and I will have absolutely none of it.

So far this lunch has consisted of sitting around a table in an appallingly lit cafeteria, discussing a 'back to school' party Token will be hosting (apparently he's rich, but I don't know), and bitching about other students, through which I've learnt a surprising amount.

See that girl over there, the one with the long black hair? She had it on with the racist fat kid who sits by himself at lunch. Wendy Testaburger was known for fucking around with the most infamously unpopular guy in school, and conforming to the casual cruelty that's just part of being a teenager, I thought that was pretty damn funny. Don't get me wrong, she was stunningly pretty, but had a voice that could cut through steel. Also I found out that she's an animal rights protestor, and very, _very_ homophobic.

According to Clyde, this was even funnier because his friend Stan Marsh was hopelessly in love with her, but she literally did not care. Not even a little. Personally I didn't find that funny, just a little sad. I had never experienced unrequited love, heck, I'd never even been interested in a girl, but I felt for the guy that I'd never even met. Being rejected for the school racist (who I later discovered doesn't even shower) is pretty harsh.

I'd decided by now that I very much like token and would like to be a long term friend of his. Clyde is so stupid he can barely function but seems to be able to recite every single line of 'Batman: the dark knight', so I accepted him as a second friend.

There are a couple more people sitting with us that I haven't quite caught the names of yet, but the red haired girl seems nice, and the guy in the leathers seems to be the kind of guy I'd like to avoid. He hasn't actually spoken since we sat down and occasionally glares from under heavy eyebrows. I'd have been quite glad to be somewhere else at the moment, but while in such adequate company I decided to make the most of it.

"So, what do you guys, uh, do?" for all I go on about my English skills I seem to lack the skills necessary for fluent communication. I'm convinced that it's because on a primal level, I just don't care, but seeing as we're all in senior year I should probably express an interest in their academic choices. I don't know, it seemed a good place to start.

Clyde snorted and fell back in laughter "Do. Doo-doo."

"And that pretty much sums up Clyde." Token chimed, receiving a short laugh from the red haired girl and a half smile from me "And I'm quite the type for engineering. After this last year of high school I'm going for my bachelor's degree." he was quite proud about it. Good for him.

"I'm looking to get into animation. Cartoons are the bomb, you feel me, man?" the red haired girl spoke up. She was easily excitable. Fun and relaxed, unlike the aggressive person sitting next to her. It was his turn to say a little something, and oh my _God._

"Fuck you. Fuck you and your American ideals. Ooh, engeeneereeng and aneemation. very nice, you chreestian peegs." Yelling. Lots and lots of yelling. He gestured with his hands a lot.

Wow. The rest of the table didn't seem to react, but I was just... wow. Who was this guy and why was he so, uh, French?

"Shut up, Christophe. Why are you even sitting here? Go hang out with your whores, why don't you." Clyde prodded, causing the Frenchman to stand very suddenly.

"Zey are not your 'whores', as you call zem. Zey are deefferent, deefferent to you and your way of ze democracy." he stormed off, a tall, dark figure looming across each table he passed, leather creasing between his shoulder blades.

It was silent in the mess hall as the door slammed shut, but a solitary voice called out "frog eating wanker!" and the room exploded in laughter. Everything went back to normal.

"What...?" I started, unsure on how to begin my many, many questions on what just happened.

"Oh, he's just like that." the red head laughed "Christophe's a bit psychotic but I like him. He has literally never sat here before and- why was he here again?" she turned to token.

He sighed "He liked the look of the 'new kid' and sat here because we had Craig. I know, creepy, right? Anyways, ignore him, he's just about the least important person you meet around here." a smirk grew across his face and be leaned in closer "He goes around claiming to be an assassin."

I couldn't help but laugh.

Gym class was possibly the most irritating thing I have ever experienced. Fuck this, fuck that and fuck you.

I was in a group of four people. This included the fat racist I had been told about earlier, who introduced himself to me as Cartman and I really didn't care. Also was a small blonde boy who looked thin enough to collapse and a ginger who was possibly the only other person I'd seen wearing a hat today.

Long story short they were all terrible. We were practicing basketball, good for me and my overly long arms and legs in comparison to my boxy torso, not so good for the three surrounding me, all slightly shorter, and either massively overweight or the opposite.

These people were not like Clyde or token or that nice red headed girl, these people were bigger assholes than I am, and almost as antisocial. I was just about ready to scoop out my eyeballs when Cartman got pansed.

And then about halfway through the lesson...

"Tweek Tweak! What do you think you're doing?!"

Out of the janitors closet at the side of the gym fell a boy, incredibly tall and incredibly skinny, with a shock of white blonde hair and the most bizarre expression I have ever seen. Around him expanded billows of smoke that faded out into the air from the heavily concentrated closet. He coughed and stubbed out a joint from where he was lying on the floor.

"You can't do me for possession, there's none left." his voice was scratchy and quite high pitched, echoing from the walls of the space and now otherwise silent gymnasium. His words and antics caused a few laughs, along with a few groans. A lot of people were muttering words of disapproval and, in sparse cases, admiration.

All the years and years of my life spent alone, reading fiction and fantasy, plotting out exactly the way this moment would go could not have prepared me for his overwhelming rush of feeling. I had never believed in love at first sight, but at that moment it struck me out and turned my world upside down.

And his first name was the same as his last. Great.

**Slightly edited, too. Hope you keep reading, because the re-post is going to be way better than the original!**

**xoxo**


	2. Why can't I be you?

**Chapter 2- Everything you do is irresistible**

**Chapter Track: Why can't I be you? – The Cure**

**Look, see, I said I'd update and I did. Be proud of me. Enjoy!**

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.

I can't get him off my mind. It's going to drive me mental.

I could see him from where I sat, across the lunch hall. this was the first day this week he has bothered to eat food inside the building, not outside where I found of he ate with Christophe (that one basket case).

But this Tweek character was an enigma to me. Token and Clyde had assured me that he wasn't that interesting, just a bit off the edge and apparently a heavy substance abuser. No matter what anyone told me, it didn't change that I couldn't get him out of my head.

I was honest to god obsessed. Why was his voice like that? Was it the amount he smoked? And how come in this ugly fluorescent lighting his eyes looked almost yellow? Like mother fucking sunshine.

"Hey, Craigy-baby, you're a bit pink." Clyde oh so helpfully interrupted my obvious creepy staring. I had warmed up to Clyde in the past week or so. The guy was fucking funny.

"Yeah," I started, still distracted "nothing, I was just, this cola is a bit... a bit dry..."

Clyde immediately had to investigate, picking up the cup and taking a large gulp "No, I'm pretty sure this cola's as wet as it should be. I mean, it's cola. Are you feeling okay?"

"Craig?"

"Yes." I snapped out of it properly this time. Tweek had finally looked back. Finding the split second eye contact just a bit too much, I decided communicating with my friends was a better idea than stalking the lanky blonde I'd never even talked to.

"Yo, dude, chill out." ah, Red, always the voice of reason. My favourite red head friend. Great for a laugh, especially with her awful colloquialisms and love for surfer slang despite living nowhere near the ocean.

I was acting pretty weird though, I thought I should probably tone down the obsessive crazy and be normal like my nice normal friends.

"Who were you looking at?" Clyde butted in, neck straining to get a glimpse of who I had been watching moments before "Was it Bebe? cause if it was, I feel you, man."

The lack of humour in his eyes was startling "Nah, Bebe's not my type. Don't worry about it." smooth, Craig, nice and casual.

The conversation lifted off from there. I liked the way this happened, with these people I could just drop a subject, Red being to intuitive and Clyde being too thick to carry it on. Me and Red discussed whether DC was better than Marvel (a huge disagreement. I say nothing beats Avengers, but having Batman and the Teen Titans? That's pretty damn good too) until Token arrived with good news.

"Guess who's got his hands on a fucking kilo of pot?" he leant over the table, speaking lowly. It wasn't often I had seen him this happy about anything recreational. I later found out that Token very much enjoyed any and all things illegal. It was terrible, really, but I let him have at it because, hey, I turned out to be worse.

What satanic forces could have predicted such an event? What happened next will be counted as the turning point in my career as a straight human male.

"Did someone say a f-fucking kilo of pot?"

That voice, like a scratchy skipping record, destroying my cool and any reserve I previously had. Those harsh yellow eyes, mocking my very existence as they joyously questioned token, who nodded excitedly.

"Yeah, man. Does that mean you'll actually show up to this one? I know how you get at parties." was Tokens good natured reply. I instantly wanted to know how he got at parties.

Tweek held his fingers up in the 'ok' gesture "F-fuck yes. It's tomorrow, right? I promise I'll tone it down for this one, kay, 'cause I ain't got any interests of the female variety at the moment, if you see where I'm coming from."

I was captivated as his eyes met mine for a split second. That shifty look, what did it mean? Well, from what I could gather he'd had female interests before, but this hasn't exactly excluded the possibility of male interests.

"Speaking of female interests," Clyde spoke up, enjoying himself as extra attention was focused on him "I'm finally gonna try it on with Bebe, but I think I'm competing with Craig here. He's been staring at her, like, all of lunch."

All eyes turned to me. Oh joy of joys, this idiot's opened his mouth and now everyone's waiting for me to talk about girls. See, this is why I'd rather not leave the house. Get ready for the aggressive monotone that is my voice.

"We've been over this, Clyde, you dumbfuck, I'm not interested. Not even a little. And I haven't been staring at her, I was staring at-" oh thank god I caught myself.

"At who?" said Token and Red at the same time. No, seriously, fuck my life.

And even Tweek is waiting for my reply, and I don't believe he actually knows my name, but he feigns interest anyway, and with those yellow eyes on me I am so much more uncomfortable than I can ever imagine being.

It's been a horrible twenty seconds of silent staring and guess who breaks it.

"I'm Tweek, by the way. I d-don't believe we've met." a long, spidery hand is offered out to me and the interruption is helpful yet unnerving.

I went for a light shake and he turned it into a bone crushing one "Craig Tucker." I ground out "And isn't your last name the same as your first?"

I have no idea what possessed me to say that. I knew it was. I instantly regretted it was Tweek's eyes changed in entirely unreadable confusion and Token slapped a hand to his forehead. The blonde looked like he might laugh.

"Y-you are just horrible at meeting people. We should hang out sometime. Oh, and don't stare at me so much, it's hella creepy you homeschooled freak." he was smiling widely, showing off two rows of pointy teeth. I noted the prominent vampire-like teeth in the top row.

And with that he walked away, fast yet casual as the table turns to me once again with confused faces.

"Why were you staring at Tweek?" Clyde asks. And I can feel a growing hatred for Clyde building up somewhere, vivid embarrassment being the main cause.

Quick, Craig, think up a valid reason "I can't figure out what colour his eyes are supposed to be. People don't have yellow eyes, right? That's not a thing."

Nobody was particularly appeased by this but I didn't care. Despite calling me a homeschooled freak and calling me out on staring, he'd also said we should hang out, and if that's not an invitation to be creepy then I don't know what is.

And then it's gym all over again and for once I'm on an agreeable team. We're playing dodgeball, and apparently I'm a good shot.

"Hit ze fat one." Christophe murmured into my ear as he passed to get a ball near the back of the court. We had recently become good acquaintances after being paired up in American lit, seeing as we were the only students who couldn't write in English. Well, he couldn't, I just had trouble picking up a pen. I smirked and threw the red rubber ball directly into Eric Cartman's massive stomach.

Several people laughed, including the opposite team as Cartman fell on his fat arse and shuffled off to the bench, grumbling all the way.

Tweek was playing today. Most gym lessons he skipped, but according to Christophe everyone loved dodgeball Friday. I wasn't exactly one to complain, either- hitting people with rubber balls was the epitome of fun.

A pointedly good shot got me right in the head, my hat cushioning the blow. It was that fucking Stan Marsh, laughing over there with his ginger friend. The only good thing about this, however, was that the last person to be out was Tweek, and I had an excuse to sit next to him.

He noticed me sit down (I could tell because I'm pretty sure he looked at my crotch) but didn't seem interested in talking to me, not really focused on the red balls flying back and forth. I watched Christophe throw four at once, but all managed to miss any kind of target and he turned around to punch the wall.

"Christophe is a weird kid." I mumbled, more to myself than anything. This, however, elicited a response from my blonde haired beauty.

"Weird doesn't cover the half of it. You ever been to his house?" he turned to me, expression unimpressed and agitated. I shook my head "Don't go to his house."

This was probably sound advice I'd appreciate for years to come, as I'd later heard from various sources that Christophe kept bats in his living room and that his mother never bothered to clean up the shit. That house was literally bat shit crazy.

"Mines much nicer, anyway. You should go there instead. You smoke?"

That, I was not expecting. The open invitation filled me with a bizarre sort of joy that could only be compared to that of a school girl crush. I shook my head again at the smoking question, but was handed a cigarette anyway.

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." I smiled as he lit the roll up in my hand. I sucked in the smoke, not breathing in as not to embarrass myself by coughing.

That was the moment the redhead in the hat was hit with rubber and had to come sit next to me.

"You can't smoke in here." he said it like a question and I immediately flinched at his awful speaking pattern. Nobody who talked like that got a say in what I can and can't do.

Before I even said anything Tweek nudged my shoulder, lighting up his own cigarette. He slowly blew a lungful of pungent smoke into the gingers face, causing him to scrunch up his nose in disgust. I couldn't help but laugh, something short and deep.

The redhead was horrified "Sir? Sir, they're smoking on school grounds." he protested, the coach facing away from us. He was a big man with tiny hands. I wondered how he ever managed to play sports with hands that small. He turned to us and sighed.

"God damn it. Tweek, Craig, go outside. I'm not having this bullshit every lesson, you hear?" he rumbled in his deep hick accent. For a seemingly redneck based society like South Park there weren't many people with heavy accents like his.

Of course, unlike myself, Tweek couldn't be calm and leave the gym without a quick go at the ginger.

"I don't like you, Broflovski." the blonde gripped the front of his gym shirt "You go to Token's tomorrow, I'll rip your lungs out through your kneecaps, you hear?"

The other two boys on the bench were listening in, and I finally realised why I'd never seen Tweek with any friends, only people he briefly talked to before wandering off to the next lot of near-strangers. If this was how he acted when facing a small but fair trial like this then it was no wonder people kept their distance.

Broflovski nodded quickly and was thrown back against the wall. Tweek and I made our leave, cigarettes in hand.

"God, you don't have to be such a dick. You know you weren't supposed to be smoking inside." I couldn't help myself. Being nice was preferable if I wanted him to like me, but pointing out flaws was in my blood.

Wide eyes rounded on me out in the September chill "Shut up. You weren't supposed to be smoking either. You don't even smoke."

What a total dick. I had to admit, I was much less keen on my infatuation while actually trying to hold a conversation with the guy. He was insufferable, proving more so now than ever, blaming me for getting us kicked out of gym. I just hoped he wasn't serious about attacking Broflovski tomorrow.

He began to walk off, leaving me to follow as he lead the way back to the changing room. I was still agitated by his presence, but where else was I going to go? "I'm going home. Oh, and I'm walking you home too."

Well I wasn't going to complain about that. Maybe he was a little decent. A little.


	3. We love rohypnol

**Chapter 3 – We love Rohypnol**

**Chapter track: Baby's got a Temper – the Prodigy**

**And here's the first chapter I can guarantee you haven't seen. To make up for such a long wait, it's about seven times more interesting than Craig going to school. Wow. Pro-tip: Craig's cage fighting hobby is revealed in this chapter. Have fun kids!**

I had to say, I was excited. I'd never been to a party before so this was a huge new experience for me. Also, considering I'd only been in normal people school for a week now I was on a quick track to an interesting teenhood- a big highschool party and a crush on a drug abusing freak. Amazing, really.

Oh yeah, I should probably fill you in on what happened yesterday when he walked me home.

It had been silent for a good few minutes before he decided to speak, and god knows I wasn't going to start the conversation. I'd been awkward enough that day.

"Guns n roses." It wasn't a sentence.

"What?"

"Do you like guns and roses? The band?" he asked, forcefully pushing a finger into my neck. I swatted him away in irritation. I don't care how attractive he is, I hate when people touch me.

I sighed and it left a cloud of condensation in the freezing air "Yeah, they're okay, I'm not much into classic rock. I can play 'Patience' on my guitar though."

"Your guitar?" he continued.

"Yeah, I play this old acoustic thing- it's really not that great but I'd like to make something out of it. Might try to sell it soon and get an electric." It was really quite unnerving the way he was looking at me.

It was quiet while we walked again. Tweek appeared to be thinking, but only god knew what about. Probably some maniacal bullshit I'd be delighted to hear about.

"Same."

"What?"

"I play too. It's really cool that you do. And I play bass as well." he wasn't looking at me. Instead, he was focused on the street directly in front of him, never blinking "We should jam sometime."

And that's just about the best thing I ever heard.

It was also just about the time we reached my house. It turns out he lives in the complete opposite direction from the school to me, in the apartment above his parents coffee shop or something like that, and I was surprised he bothered to walk me all the way here if it were that much of an effort.

All in all, his newfound guitar playing ability was a huge turn on and the idea of a jamming session had me just about dead.

So here I am now, waiting for Clyde (who lived two doors down) to come pick me up in his dad's car and drive me to this party, which was very important because Tweek was going to be there. Oh, and it was a huge party filled with booze and illegal drugs but I wasn't that excited about that.

Oh dear lord you should have seen me about five hours later. It's shameful. I know we're going to get there eventually and you'll see for yourself, but I have to say right now, before I tell you about the party, how fucking pleased I am with everything that went on. I get way too happy about things.

Anyway.

The bellowing of "Craigery!" followed by two short bleeps of a car horn told me that Clyde was outside. Grabbing my jacket, I made my way out the door (doing my best to ignore my mother's stare. She wasn't happy that I was going out like this) and down the driveway, climbing into the passenger seat next to the eagerly puppy faced brunette.

There was a tense silence while he stared at me. I momentarily wondered if I was underdressed, but looking at his plain jeans and t-shirt I decided that couldn't be the case. It annoyed me how his sleeves were rolled up. Hipster didn't suit him.

"Craig, dude, do you, like, lift?" came the overly punctuated sentence as Clyde's eyes examined my body for the first time without sleeves. I was wearing a striped blue tank top and tight jeans, military boots and a sleeveless denim jacket.

I guess he meant that my arms were impressive, because he appeared satisfied with my answer "I have a strict exercise regime and practice in local cage fighting tournaments. I like fighting."

"Cooooool." He grinned "You should totally get into a fight tonight, show off your skills. Hey, everyone's saying Tweek Tweak's gonna beat up Kyle Broflovski at the party, is that true?"

I rolled my eyes "Maybe. I could use some practice. And he said he would but I doubt he's actually gonna do it."

"He said that?" Clyde seemed shocked, finally turning the ignition on.

"Yeah."

"Oh man there's gonna be some bloodshed tonight."

Clyde started up the car so he had to shut up for a second and concentrate. He flipped a tape into the slot and some old rock song came on, filling the car with its screechy tones.

"I'm totes rooting for Tweek, then, hence the tribute." He gestured to the tape player "This is his song, you know. Guy's a nut for guns n roses."

"Guns n roses?"

I paid the song a little more attention after that, wanting to be more versed in the band Tweek was so insistently infatuated with. The lyrics held no message and had exactly zero impact on me, but they didn't have to for it to be a good tune. Clyde started to sit along.

"Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty!" and then in the highest voice he could possibly make "Oh won't you please take me hoooome!"

"Shut up. Jesus fucking christ..."

When we got there I realised why everyone said Token was rich. This wasn't a house, this was a mansion. The guy was obviously loaded and, to be honest, it was kind of exciting to have a friend that rich.

"This is gonna be hella rad- you ever been real drunk before?" Clyde turned with the sudden question. It was pretty valid, considering my homeschool reputation, but it still irked me that people still thought about me that way.

"Yes, Clyde, I've been drunk before. I used to get served in bars back in Denver." I rolled my eyes at his stupid puppy face.

"Cooooooooool."

The inside was even more impressive than the outside, if that were possible. The party was already in full swing but nobody seemed that drunk yet. Clyde walked me through to the kitchen where we found Token mixing drinks in front of a small group of people.

He poured multiple fancy looking bottles into the shaker, adding various juices to his cocktail. His audience loved it- there was something about colourful drinks that really appealed to teenagers, I guess. He poured five separate glasses, all of which were sugar rimmed and decorated with a lime wedge. The drink itself was a striking green.

"And who wants more booze? Can't complain about more booze... Oh, hey Craig, want some booze?"

I'll say it right now, I fucking love Token. Partially because he's awesome, but also because that's the moment he handed me an entire bottle of expensive whiskey and told me to 'have fun'. He's right. Can't complain about more booze.

One hour into the night and I still hadn't let go of my whiskey. I decided not to get too ahead of myself, only total losers pass out at 10:00, so I'd polished off barely a quarter.

So far I'd seen several people smoking blunts they'd brought themselves (Token told me he was saving the pot for later) and I'm half sure someone was injecting heroin. I'd never been in a real life situation with drugs before and I have to say it's very exciting, if not slightly intimidating.

Red was a great person to spend time with. She already knew everyone there and introduced me to a lot of people, namely Bebe and Kenny, my two new blonde friends who were both overly confident and wouldn't stop flirting with the majority of the party's demographic.

"The last few days," Kenny chimed, his hick accent shining through in his mildly inebriated state "I have done nothing but watch teenage mutant ninja turtles. Thats it. I skipped school to watch cartoons from the 80's and I'm not even gonna deny it."

"Nerd." Bebe sniped jokingly.

"Bitch." He retorted.

"Dyke."

"That doesn't work if I'm a guy."

"Are you losers done yet?" Craig interjected, gaining some stares from this unfamiliar social group. He didn't really care though, these people were irrelevant to him.

A snort sounded from behind him and a large, clammy hand clamped down on his shoulder "Losers. Heh, good one Clay."

Ouch "It's Craig?"

"Right." Grinned Tweek, a malicious glint in his eye "And my first name is the same as my last. Isn't the world a fascinating place? Names are just so important."

I let that one go. It was probably easier to ignore it anyway. That didn't stop the uncomfortable looks between the surrounding partygoers, all of which seemed to be giving Tweek the stink eye. He seemed fine with that, though.

"Bebe, babe, how have we been for the past year?" he slid his arm around her shoulder and I was instantly jealous. She seemed much less wanting of it, however.

Bebe rolled her eyes "Oh, you know, same as last year. Still a lesbian, still not interested." she said irritably, pushing him away from her. Well, at least she wasn't competition. This small revelation made me take a moment to wonder just how stupid Clyde was, and desperately hoped that he didn't try anything on with Bebe tonight in hope of avoiding avid embarrassment.

In a feeble attempt to drag his attention back to me I offered Tweek my bottle and the bastard drank down half of the remainder in one go "Hmmn, very nice. A little expensive for my tastes but who's complaining? Where's Token?"

"Somewhere in the kitchen. I'll come with you." I'm not gonna lie to you, this guy puts me on edge in the best way. I don't even care how stupid my grin is at this point, he put his fucking arm around my shoulder and if that isn't the best thing to happen to me then I don't know what is.

As we walked, him not breaking contact at all, he pointed out everyone he could see who didn't like him. There were a surprising amount of people he had pissed off, but apparently Token held these parties once a month and there was a good reason Tweek had stopped going. 'How he gets at parties' seemed to involve a lot of fights and what could be considered petty theft. This didn't degenerate my opinion of him, though- He kept touching up and down my arm, which was definitely enough to be distracting.

Twenty minutes later and we've found Token. Him and a larger than necessary group of people were passing around a bong, taking deep inhales and filling the room with dank smog. My blonde friend here looked happier than I really understand in relation to substance abuse. You know, things could have gone so smoothly, but Clyde's an idiot and word gets around in a place like this.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" A tall, tanned and well-muscled guy in a letterman jacket blocked the doorway. I recognised him as Stan Marsh, the ass who got me out in dodge ball. He didn't appear to be inebriated at all. For a second I thought he was talking to me, but then I remembered that nobody knows or gives half a shit about who I am or what I do, and that Tweek likes to cause trouble.

I was suddenly pulled aside by the blonde who began whispering in my ear, and I wondered if this happened often. Tweek was very close, breathing on my face "Thats Stan Marsh and you've got pretty big arms. You better be up for a fight cause I'm warning you now I snap like a twig."

"Can do." I replied, not regretting it in the slightest as the blonde gave me that insane grin of his. We turned back to our addressor, who was confused by our momentary discussion.

"Hey, Twitch, are you gonna explain your problem with Kyle or bore yourself to death with that ugly twat there?" The dark haired boy demanded, not even looking at me as the insult was thrown.

A low 'ooooooh' resonated throughout the hallway, the dopeheads in the room adjacent all gathering round into some sort of half-formed circle. There wasn't much going for me in the realm of comebacks- the guy was fucking handsome and I wasn't exactly pretty- but that didn't mean I was going to back down.

But that's when Kyle appeared from behind his larger companion, looking very irritated and a little embarrassed "Stan, don't start on homeschool-"

"Don't call him homeschool you fucking cat." Tweek snarled, and I've never seen him particularly angry before, but it was kinda hot. I also wondered whether 'cat' was a real insult.

"I was defending him?" Kyle countered, confused. It annoyed me on a level I can't really process. He was such a suck up.

"Does he even speak?" Stan looked at me this time. Being taller meant he had to look down, and if that wasn't the most full of contempt, snobby glare I've ever seen than Satan may have my soul. It was even better than mine "Don't worry, Ky, anyone worth defending knows better than to hang around with queen schizoid, the murderers son ."

And I swear to god the noise that came after that was unbelievable. I had no idea what was going on, but everyone surrounding us was screaming something or the other. Token was yelling something about 'crossing a line', but the only part that got through to me was Tweek's face.

You know before when I said he looked pretty hot when he was angry? Well, I take that back. His irises had dilated down to these tiny yellow circles in an almost demonic stare, and he stood slack-jawed yet stiff as a board. I could tell he was going to jump, and for a second prayed to god that I never made him that angry. He was terrifying.

Through the noise he turned to face me, his neck moving as if detached from his body, and mouthed the simple instruction:

"Kill him."

I didn't have to wait long before Tweek had started the attack, pouncing on Stan and pushing him back into the wall where he hit his head. When Kyle tried to intervene and pull Tweek off, I knew that was my cue. Two on one wasn't fair.

As the blonde fell away, he moved on to kick Kyle in the balls. What a dirty fighter. I'd have to try and keep him out of trouble. With a roll of my eyes I surged forwards and my fist connected with Stan's jaw. I heard a couple people yell 'go homeschool!'. Idiots.

Stan pushed me back and punched me in the gut, obviously expecting me to go down, but years of cage fighting had left me without much weakness and I wasn't even winded. I retaliated by kicking him hard in the stomach, following it up with another punch in the face that had me to the left of him where I swiped him off balance by kicking in his knees. He fell to the floor, not knowing whether to bring his hands to his stomach to face.

I pulled him up to a kneeling position and got up close to his face "I don't know what you said to him, but don't fucking dare start that again or I'll beat your head in, kay?" threats have never been my strong suit. He groaned where I held him and pulled his hand away, revealing a rapidly forming black eye. He started struggling, pushing me off. I considered whether I was taking it too far, but I liked my breakneck reputation back in Denver and I wanted one here too.

With no warning I smashed my forehead against the bridge of his nose, hearing a loud 'crack' from where it hit. When I pulled away and stood up, refusing to rub my head despite the pain, there was a gushing stream of blood running down his chin.

Looking around, it appeared that Tweek and Kyle had stopped attempting any form of physical fight long ago, the ginger leaning against the wall and holding his crotch, blood spilling from a split in his lip, and Tweek staring at me with an intense yet completely unreadable face.

Stan and Kyle were all but running away, now, ashamed that their battle plan had been thwarted by the psychotic beanpole and his loser homeschooled sidekick. The majority of the fight circle was either coming to bother me about my fighting or rushing off to comfort Stan and Kyle. Others just ambled away, either too drunk to understand what was going on or, like me, they just really didn't care.

Clyde was screaming about something or the other. I think I caught 'dude got fuckin ninja skills' somewhere in his rant and rolled my eyes. As if I haven't done that enough today.

The part I really enjoyed was the genuine admiration in Tweek's eyes as he approached me.

"You are literally incredible." he smiled, and it wasn't his manic grin or just some way to show off his shark teeth, it was a real, genuine smile "C'mon, let's go get stoned."

And I wasn't going to deny him the experience.


	4. In my smoked out boring room

**Chapter 4 – In my smoked out, boring room**

**Chapter Track: Burnout – Green Day**

**Look, new chapter. I'm enjoying this. The aftermath of the party, and the introduction of the boys eventual competition. Have fun!**

The fight? Pretty fun if I'm honest with you. I like fighting, and the amount I people who came up to me after was astounding. You'd be surprised how many drunk girls are impressed by a guy who can make another guy bleed from the face.

My favourite part about that was how antsy Tweek was getting. The amount of attention I received was far unmatched by him, who everyone already knew was insane and bad in a fight, and so had taken to sitting right next to me, intently staring at every girl who pushed their cleavage in my face. I'll be fair- I'm very happy with my lanky blondie here, but I'm not complaining about the female attention either.

I'd had about four hits on the bong now and was starting to lose it. I kept falling onto Tweek's shoulder, only to have him push me upright again. I wasn't sure how close I was to giving in to the girl on my right when he decided we should go somewhere else.

I wasn't allowed to leave without the girl's number being typed into my phone, much to Tweek's irritation. She was pretty. Only slightly shorter than me with long black hair and bangs she had pinned up into a bouffant kind of hairdo and heavily applied red lipstick. I think her eyes were brown. I like brown eyes.

I remember very little after that. A lot of the blurs in my head are of Tweek ranting about something or the other, but I'm sure he was talking about comic books. Or maybe I was thinking about comic books. Who knows, I was stoned.

The morning was definitely interesting. I woke up wearing no shirt, but in my sleeveless denim jacket and a lacy white bra. What's better is that I woke up in Token's cellar bent over a crate full of holes with a headache so bad it couldn't have been a hangover.

I was part of the 'after party' as Token had put it. My fellow contenders were Kenny, Red (who i hadn't even seen last night) and bout six other guests I hadn't interacted with. We all sat around until four in the afternoon taking painkillers and telling stories from the night before. One girl in particular mentioned my name while telling hers.

"Yeah, and then the competition started down in the basement- I mean, cellar- and I smashed in four crates with my head and then I think I passed out. Saw Craig do at least five, though. How you doin', buddy?" She turned to me, speaking with what felt like an exaggerated British accent. She had boy short hair, dyed bright pink and shaved at the sides. A lot of dark eye makeup, blue eyes and freckles adorning very inch of her face. Her eyebrows have away that she was naturally ginger.

"That explains the headache, actually." I laughed, and felt immediately bad because it seemed like I was was supposed to know her from last night "I was so out of it, I don't remember much. Sorry, who are you?"

I felt even worse when her goofy smile flickered, her tone a little more reserved after that "I'm Jan. Your drunk blonde friend wouldn't leave me alone and then we got into a headbutting competition."

Oh yeah. Tweek.

"Speaking of my drunk blonde friend, you seen him around here at all? He's a hazard to everyone and I can't remember where he'd go." Probably home, if he's anything close to a logical or reasonable human being. Then again, I thought it safer to ask.

She laughed to herself for a second, apparently remembering something funny "I've seen him around here before, you know. He's a fucking flasher when he's high and I think he got kicked out at around three in the morning. Wait, no, it might have been him who jumped out the second floor window and made all that glass mess out front."

"He jumped out of a window?" I couldn't believe how casual she was about this.

"Why don't you just call him? Here, he put his number in my phone four times last night. Reckon he wants me to call?" she smirked and I instantly gagged. She wasn't allowed to say things like that, he was my crazy blonde beanpole.

"Thanks." I took down the number and pulled on my shoes, going out front to look at the shattered glass

It took a good twenty seconds of ringing before he picked up "Fuck-" muffled crashing "What? Who the fuck-"

"Tweek." I stopped him "It's Craig. You jumped out a window, didn't you?" my tone was more accusatory than questioning.

A pause "How the fuck did you get my number?" came his groaned reply, and I was a little offended.

"Pink haired pixie girl. Jan. Where do you live I'm coming over."

"You know that coffee shop just off the high street? The apartment above it." he sounded less pissed about giving his address than the leakage of his phone number "You know her real name's January. I watched her be sick in a bin once, it was really cool."

"Yeah, okay, buddy. I'll be over in a minute."

The walk seemed shorter than it was- I was preoccupied with being disgusted at his last addition to the conversation. The coffee shop in question was very... questionable.

The entire front of the shop was glass, presenting the dimly lit inside full of rounded tables and mismatched chairs. There were multiple pot plants that seemed in good health, but everything looked as if it hadn't been dusted in years. On my way inside I spied a couple of stragglers sitting on their own- one was an old man, the other had their hood up- who averted their gaze as I walked towards the bright red door that seemed so out of place in this dingy little shop.

I tried the handle but it wouldn't open, so I knocked instead, earning a glare from the old man in the booth. Not a second later the sound of frantic running down the stairs and a bump on the other side of the door, a little 'hang on' and then multiple chains being unlocked. I counted six.

The door slowly creaked open, revealing the tired, yellow eyes of the person I was infatuated with. My palms were sweating.

"Why do you gotta steal girls from me? That's not what we do." He spoke from around the edge of the door, not letting me see his mouth.

I had no idea what he was talking about, but right now I was itching to see what his home looked like "If you mean Jan, then you're stupid. I think she's a lesbian."

"M'not stupid." he mumbled, opening the door fully and leading me up a rickety wooden staircase. Fuck, it felt dangerous just looking at it, and the ominous black cloud of the actual apartment was more off putting than I'd like to admit.

Actually being up there was a different story, however. It was warmly lit with cream coloured walls which were covered in obscure paintings; most of which I felt would give me nightmares but I guess it's up to personal taste. One particular image of a woman with the grotesque head of a cow will be ingrained into my memory forever.

"It's a bit small, isn't it?" he spoke as we entered what appeared to be the living room. It took me a second to realise that he was nervous.

"I like it. The paintings freak me out though." It was an honest reply.

"Well I'm not taking the paintings down just for you." He became suddenly vicious and I was reminded of last night and the pathetic violence it had unleashed. It was gone as quickly as it had come and he averted his eyes from my puzzled face as I looked around, the red leather couch catching my eye.

"Sit down. That's what guests do. I'll make the, uh, snacks? No, probably not." He left the room and wet into what a presumed to be the kitchen, because of the slightly fluorescent atmosphere of it.

I made myself comfortable, sitting neatly on the couch and tracing patterns into the denim covering my legs. Jeans. They're called jeans. This was when I chose to notice how much denim I was wearing and inwardly cursed myself. I will shamefully admit that my wardrobe is comprised of a ridiculous amount of denim.

So he eventually comes back in with a tray in one hand and a bowl in the other, both of which are placed on the paint-covered coffee table in front of us. The tray consisted of two mysterious glasses, two straws and a line of shots. The bowl was full of clear liquid, which instantly had me worried.

Tweek sat down next to me, realised that our legs were touching and instantly shifted over a few inches. He looked between me and the bowl, noting my confusion "Fishbowl." He said before pouring one of the cups and three of four shots into the mix "Be drunk with me. Getting high is overrated and _you_ just blank out when you're stoned anyway. We're going to drink the whole bowl." The straws were carefully placed on either side of the bowl and he turned to me expectantly.

"That's an awful idea. Let's do it." His face lit up and I took that as invitation to get started. I chose the blue straw, he chose the green, and I'm sure what I did could be described as a heroic effort.

I could feel the alcohol burn in my nose "Christ, what's in that?" I choked out between gasps, the fiery liquid affecting me more than I thought it would. The bowl looked just as full as it had before, and I briefly wondered what I was getting into.

"The original bowl was a full bottle of gin; the big cup was paint thinner, the shot glasses were the ends of some bottles I found in the back of the cupboard. I swear to god every time you come over here you just clean me out." He spat it out in a rapid, nervous way. I couldn't tell whether I thought it was cute or weird, but what's the difference anymore?

He took another long sip through his straw, not looking at me as he spoke "Does January know my name?" he asked. With this uttering he was suddenly a lot less cute.

"No. She referred to you as my 'drunk blonde friend'. See, you're _my friend_ now. That means you get to be the sidekick." I felt mean, and I felt good. I don't want him thinking he's a big man or anything just because he's interested in some punk girl with badly dyed hair.

"Fuck if I'm being a sidekick. Jan's gonna be sucking my cock before the end of the week, I swear to god." He seemed less mad than I'd come to expect from his irrational and frankly quite disturbing behaviour.

It went quiet for a little while as we tried to drink more than I'm entirely sure is humanly possible. I pulled away every few seconds to swallow the bitter mixture that burned less and less as the bowl depleted. I was sure it was almost empty when Tweek spoke again. He seemed off now, swaying a little from our ridiculous alcoholic intake.

"We should date." He slurred.

Hold it. Hold it just a god damn second.

"What?"

"You know," He tried again, waving his hand in a camp manner "go on a double date. I can teach you some real fancy tricks to make girls wanna fuck you"

Well that made a lot more sense. I was a little disappointed, but I hadn't really expected him to ask me out anyway. The idea was awful, though, and not in a 'let's drink a bowl of gin and paint thinner' kind of way "Who would we even go with?" I tried.

"Well I'm gonna ask Jan. She's fucking hardcore- you know she can crack four wooden crates with her fucking forehead? Now that's metal. You should ask that girl from the party. You know, the one who wouldn't let you leave without her number."

I can do five. I can crack _five._

"Yeah, okay." I said lamely, and in that moment sitting on Tweek's couch, drunk with him now leaning into my shoulder, I still managed to feel awful.


	5. You make me act real gone

**Chapter 5 – You make me act real gone**

**Chapter track: Velvet goldmine – David Bowie**

**A strange second insight to Craig's mind and life this chapter. What am I even talking about this is crack the whole story is basketcase crack.**

"You've been out two nights in a row." came the accusation of the cold, faceless machines.

My parents were strange. If they weren't teaching, then they weren't talking to you, and if they were talking to one of us, they were talking to Ruby.

"I know. I was at a friend's." factual. They liked to keep things factual. Every sentence was a report.

My father, a larger ginger man had spoken before. Now it was my mother's turn. I knew she wasn't naturally blonde, she was half Cherokee and I hated that she lied to herself like that "You should really call us if you plan to do that. Overexposure to other teenagers is proving problematic- you can't just do what you want."

I didn't like this. It was weird. They were weird and if I was honest I didn't much like them either. I chose that moment to leave, exiting up the stairs and to my bedroom.

I suppose they're where I get it from- this clipped, cold attitude. Nobody in my family are any good at social interaction and I'm no exception.

My parents were dull. They never did anything and I may as well not have them. The first eight years of my life I spent interacting with a computer program and baby Ruby, so I want you to understand why I'm so totally fucked. I'm never bringing Tweek to my house- it's shameful and boring, unlike his apartment. That's probably the best home in the world.

No, my family are too sterile and separated to meet real people like Tweek, if he's even real. A thought came to me recently about whether he could be a figment of my imagination, but I decided that as a violent shut in I wouldn't be particularly prone to imaginary friends. I didn't need a companion- people are awful.

I wouldn't mind Tweek being my companion. We should all know by now that I literally never get bored of him, which makes for a good relationship.

Relationship.

That was a weird word for me. I'm going to admit to you now, I'm a virgin. Both a literal virgin and a relationship virgin. I have never been intimate with another person because I am terrified of being like that with people.

Thinking about being in a relationship with Tweek... it's stressful. If I was to pick anyone it would be him, but why?

To be fair I would probably be better off dating someone like Token; responsible and witty. That would be nice. I could probably date Red, she's really nice and we have good back and forth. Fuck, even that girl from the party would be a better girlfriend than Tweek would.

A sudden thought came to mind and I was glad that nobody was around to see the blood rush to my face. Tweek being the, uh, girl. Wow. Things like this make me incoherent.

No, I don't think anybody else would make a better girlfriend than Tweek.

-

"Craigery!" that irritating, sing-song voice echoed through the busy hall, Clyde's meaty arm swinging round my shoulders. I really should be used to this by now, he did it every day since I met him, but the weekend must have lowered my immunity to it because I immediately pushed him off.

"Sorry." I choked out when he turned those puppy eyes on me. Christ, that's embarrassing. No seventeen year old boy should be able to do that.

"It's okay, man, I get it. You've got that big hard-head reputation to uphold now. I'll stop doing that." he looked so sad, but I knew he was just making some overly contrived joke.

Wait, oh yeah, my shiny new reputation.

I forgot all about that after my Saturday spent in Tweek's apartment. This would be fun- it gives me an excuse to fail classes I so demandingly hate and beat the ever loving shit out of dicks like Stan Marsh. It also means I can make Tweek jealous with pretty girls. 

"The fuck kind of hard-head would I be without my lumpy sidekick. C'mere." and in front of about seven people I had never talked to nor do I care about, I pulled Clyde into a stupid one armed hug.

"Oh, Craig," he pretended to tear up "It's all I ever wanted."

"Hey hard-head, lumpy, do I get a nickname or is it a personal thing?" Token joined us, putting his arm around Clyde's other side and walking us down the hall.

"Dude," oh god, American teenager slang. I'm getting normal "you're Token, you don't need a nickname."

"You make me feel so special." Token laughed, and for once I actually felt like part of something.

-

English was once again painful, and for some reason I had assumed the difficulty would end with the false illusion of the weekend. I still can't hold a pen properly- my handwriting looks like a mad child carving words into a brick with a pair of tweezers.

"Zat is ze handwriteeng of a baboon." Christophe commented, leaning over my shoulder. Did I mention we're partners in English?

"You're a baboon." was my sullen comeback. It's pointless to keep writing, I reasoned, giving up and turning to face my bizarre company.

Sometimes we would discuss fighting techniques. Apparently Christophe was big on violence and nobody else in the school would really talk to him about it. What I had been told was right- he really did claim to be an assassin.

"Ze choke hold is a very efficient way of killeeng a man. Not so much a woman. Zey are dangerous, much tougher zan you or me..."

He spoke like this often, me just happy to listen and ignore this English bollox. I found out that there's about six of them who like to skip lessons and sit around at the back of the school to smoke. They spend their lunch there too, no especially keen to make contact with the rest of the school populous.

Christophe never disclosed who exactly these people were, but I found out myself later that day.

I was sitting at the usual table, which I now appeared a valid part of since my 'initiation', as Clyde liked to call it. People started liking me after I beat up Stan Marsh, which really says something about this school and the people in it. Token assured me the group liked me anyway, but I decided to reserve judgement. I'd received a lot of lunch invitations throughout the day.

It's not like I wasn't expecting it, but when Tweek showed up it was more of what he said that was a surprise.

"Why aren't you having lunch with me?" He chided, getting a little close for comfort. The rest of the table was ignored, which seemed to annoy them a little.

"This is where I have lunch." I responded blankly. There wasn't much to say, really. Despite the rather nice idea of spending my lunch hour with him, the table were my friends and I had no intention to move.

It still seemed to annoy him, though, thin brows knotting together in irritation "Craig, think about your priorities. I need you to come sit with me." there was a heavy weight behind his words. He slid onto the bench, managing to get close enough that our noses were touching.

Token coughed, and I forced my blush to go down. Clyde was staring at me open mouthed and Red just wasn't impressed. My short "Okay." didn't offer much explanation as Tweek shot up from his seat with a sharp 'good', and I followed, confused and agitated at the obvious manipulation. Did he know? It's not like I hide it well.

He couldn't know. He was far too casual for that. Far too long and pale and blonde... and I don't know why exactly he doesn't know but I sort of want to tell him.

I thought the silent walk he led me on was annoying, but then much too suddenly the walk is over and I'm out of thinking time. Where Tweek took me could be described as post-apocalyptic.

The back of the school was a dump. No, it was a literal dump. The bins were over filled and rats scurried across dirty gravel. A few kids I'd usually prefer to avoid sat around in a circle amongst the trash, passing their cigarette which was clearly not going to last for more than a couple more puffs.

Christophe was amongst them. Tweek sat in the opening in the circle that was clearly reserved for him, and pushed the boy with the dyed red hair over to make space for me too. The entire group watched this intently and it was awful as I sat, the glaring eyes of judgemental goths surrounding me.

"Who's the new fag." a clearly overweight girl asked. She was dressed similarly to the boy Tweek had pushed, who was now on my right, and when she spoke it was direct and aggressive.

"This is Craig. Say hi to the nice people, Craig." Tweek chided in a sing-song sort of way that was as annoying as it was strangely cute.

"Hi." I ground out. I never liked new people. Clyde and Token were hard enough to be friends with- I don't think I can handle these ones. They seemed more outwardly awful than the last set of people I met, and it took me hardly any time at all to realise that Tweek was the most generally liked person in this circle.

Vague muttering was the result of my single worded sentence. I really don't think they like me. However, during this obvious gossip session Tweek gave the majority of the circle the evil eye, and I guessed that it was probably a sign to be nicer to me. It's around this time that I realised Tweek must care for me somewhat despite his unconventional and violent tendencies, because why else would he go through the trouble of dragging me unwillingly into his social group? Why else would he spend an entire weekend with me, and then insist on having me on Monday, too?

"They hate you." He said as we left the group to go to gym class. He'd promised he'd go today so I didn't have to stand around with a fuck about team and be forced into conversation.

"Fantastic." I spat "Why did you bring me there again?"

He shrugged "I thought they'd like you. Turns out they can't. Enough people like you already."

"What are you talking about."

"You beat up _Stan Marsh."_ He turned on me, eyes wide and suddenly a lot more animated "People _have_ to like you. It's like, the law around here or something, like, Stan was the king, and now you're the king. It's some crazy shit. 'Sides, it's nice. I've never been besties with the king before." He added, averting his gaze to inspect the details of the brick wall we were walking past.

Besties. That word irked me in the same way it made me happy. Me and Tweek were best friends in his eyes, and I didn't know if that was a step closer or a step back from getting what I want.


End file.
